Ashen Host
One quiet night in Shanghai, Haoran found a strange cigarette on the wet pavement. Its edges were darkened, but it wasn’t burnt. A thin, silvery mist curled from it, almost like it was alive.
Curious, he lit it and took a slow drag.
The taste was bitter, metallic wrong. A sharp pain spread through his chest, like fire and ice fighting inside him. He coughed hard, but the smoke didn’t leave. Instead, it thickened, twisting into the air like living shadows.
Then, from the swirling smoke, something took shape, a tall figure with glowing ember eyes and skin made of shifting ash. Its voice was deep and heavy, like burning coal.
“You have awakened me,” it said. “Now, your fate is sealed.”
Haoran’s hands shook, the cigarette still between his fingers. He thought he had just found an old cigarette. Instead, he had inhaled something far more dangerous.
